on every street
theres gotta be a record of you some place
you gotta be on somebodys books
the lowdown a picture of your face
your injured looks
the sacred and profane
the pleasure and the pain
somewhere your fingerprints remain concrete
and its your face im looking for
a ladykiller
regulation tattoo
silver spurs on his heels says
what can i tell you as im standing next to you
she threw herself under my wheels
oh its a dangerous road
and a hazardous load
and the fireworks over liberty expode in the heat
and its your face im looking for
a three-chord symphony crashes into space
the moon is hanging upside down
i dont know why it is im still on the case
its a ravenous town
and you still refuse to be traced
seems to me such a waste
and every victory has a taste thats bittersweet
and its your face im looking for
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